The Fickle Firelight
by Elssha
Summary: A sad Christmas memory revolving around our dear old Ron. Not in any way related to Forlorn Hope. One shot, RR, Flames welcomed


This is a one-shot again, originally written for a little contest going on at the HP forums. IN NO WAY RELATED TO FORLORN HOPE

It's Ron's memory of Christmas; probably the closest to romance I've ever posted, sad as usual (to those that know me)… set nine years after Hogwarts graduation. 

*Insert standard disclaimer here*

There you go, R/R please… Flames quite welcomed (I haven't betaed this so if anyone would like to do the honor e-mail me at elssha@hotmail.com … that being said, please excuse the occasional error)

Fickle Firelight 

The warm flames illuminated the dark, just as they did that night. 

The logs popped and crackled, just as they did that night. 

"Ron!" Hermione would call, her voice sweet and full of mirth, "Come _on _Ron!" 

She wore the most darling little green dress, he could still remember the softness of the fabric and how the color matched Harry's eyes just so. He could see it so vividly, even now; the cusp cut that framed her front, the low slit that ran the length of her back, cross laced with a thick golden ribbon that tied into a beautiful bow just below her long hair… Oh, and how that dress would swirl as she danced, laughing and giggling the whole night through.

"Oh no you don't Ron… no pranks tonight!" She'd call out later, just as he was about to tie a 'special surprise' for Harry.

"You _know _he'll have one for me too?" He would then ask her, a smirk playing on his face, "He'd hate to not get one after going through all the trouble of making one for me…"

Oh, even her glare had been cute, holding no malice or anger beyond the usual frustration at their boyish antics. 

            Then there was Harry, smirking as he watched her fuss, flicking his wand at the perfect moment, making mistletoe appear all over. Oh, Ron could have kissed _him _for it, had he not been far too preoccupied kissing the ever-lovely Miss Granger as Harry winked at him from behind. Ron hadn't even said anything when Ginny came, Harry taking his turn under the magic greenery. Hell, Harry was the one guy Ron had no qualms with when it came to his sister… judging by the smirks the other members of his family wore after the occurrence, neither did they. 

            Oh, and how her eyes sparkled when presents came, when she opened the tiny gift that was almost lost in the stacks of presents for Ron's nieces and nephews, the rambunctious decedents of George, Percy and Charlie. Fred's girlfriend had been there too, he remembered the girl's beach blonde locks and flashy French accent that made her words turn to music. But nothing could outdo his Hermione, nothing could ever outdo the look of utter shock and glee she radiated as she opened that little gift, practically tackling him in her merriment.  She had kissed him for a good ten minutes before she'd let him utter a word, not that he minded in the least. He remembered the purest chuckle escaping him, grinning wider than a Cheshire cat as he asked her, still lying on the floor with her squarely on top of him as his family looked on, 

"May I take that as a yes, Miss Granger?"

It had earned him a whack to the head from Ginny, a mock-serious "Ronald Weasley, is _that _how you propose?" 

But no one really cared, not that he would have ever noticed if they had. Hermione was simply ecstatic the rest of the night, proudly wearing the silver engagement ring. 

He could almost see her amber hair in the firelight, crimped and pinned lightly around her face, creating the most beautiful sight he would ever behold. He could see her star-lit eyes, her sweet smile, he could see it all in the flickering flames… and it brought tears to his eyes. Oh how he longed to be able to touch that hair, that dress. How he longed to be able to look into those eyes and kiss those heavenly lips…

He couldn't.

He wished he could turn back time, relive all those happy days, ask her to marry him right out of school instead of waiting all those years…

He couldn't.

How he wished to be able to see her face, Ginny's face, oh how he wished he could see any of them; Fred, George, Bill, Charlie, Percy, Mom and Dad…

He couldn't. 

They were gone.

All gone… dead and buried. 

            The flames reminded him of _that _too; of all the deaths in his twenty seven years, of all the sorrows he felt, of all the tears he had shed, of all the people he'd killed as an Auror, of all the hate he had welled-up within him, of all the wrongs in his life. All of it fueled by that one horrid night. It was the day before new years of that very same year, two and a half months from what would have been the happiest day in his life. The entire family was in the house, readying themselves for the party that was to be held that night… what turned into a Deatheater rave at their expense.  Harry and he were working at headquarters, grudgingly accepting the request for the week of no work they were promised after new year's day… They'd still be able to make the party they had figured, and then they'd be able to start the year at leisure while most other Aurors had to report in the next morning. 

            They came two hours before Harry and Ron were to leave headquarters, twenty Deatheaters bent on making sure Harry and he felt their blow for years to come. They killed them, they killed them all. Ron remembered coming after the alarms had sounded only to see the house ablaze and all of them trapped inside, magical barriers that not even Harry could crack keeping everyone out of reach. He remembered Hermione's screams, the screams of Ginny, of the little kids. 

Ginny was twenty two. George's sons, Tom and Zack were seven and nine, respectively. Juliet, Charlie's little girl, was ten, ready to start Hogwarts that fall. Marie and Cindy were both twelve, both in Gryffindor. Marie was one of Percy's kids, Cindy was her best friend, allowed to spend New Year's at their house… Chris and Derek were also Percy's, two and four… Hermione was twenty three. All of them died that night, just as the sun was setting, along with his parents, his sisters-in-law Desdemona, Susan and Oriel. 

            Ron remembered that Christmas better than any other, it was the one time things seemed perfect only to be so brutally ripped away only days later. He remembers how violent he got after that, he remembers killing Malfoy and a handful of other Deatheaters the following day, he remembers trying to jump off the North tower at Hogwarts after Dumbledore had called him and the other order members back for a meeting… He remembers Harry yelling at him after the wards had caught him, giving him no more than a broken arm and twisted ankle... He remembers breaking every window of his flat in London… he remembers Harry yelling at him after that too… He remembers Harry yelling at him after every stupid thing he did after that night. He remembers how afraid Harry was that he'd lose _him _too. But Ron couldn't _not _do all those things. He wasn't Harry.  He couldn't take out his anger any other way. He could not cope as Harry could, having everything ripped from him throughout his life. Ron couldn't handle it. Here he was, twenty seven, having to continuously tell himself he had to live on. 

Having to continuously tell himself to breath, to eat, to live. 

It was as if revenge was the only thing that kept him going now;

a thirst for blood where once love lay, 

a scowl where once he bore a smile. 


End file.
